


the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts

by themetgayla



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Rich!Regina, Smart!Emma, Tutoring, a little bit angsty?, maybe? - Freeform, yes it’s that trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 14:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22497268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetgayla/pseuds/themetgayla
Summary: “you’re a rich kid who’s turned up at my door offering to pay me to do your work for you. this is not what i meant when i advertised my tutoring services, and no, i will not do it no matter how much debt i’m in” an au by me
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Comments: 26
Kudos: 136





	the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve honestly no idea what this is lmao, i wrote it this evening and it probably sucks. i’m a sucker for a college au though with a good ol dose of bratty/rich regina and a no-nonsense emma! enjoy :)
> 
> (also i completely made up the shit about the legality of emma leaving home at fourteen in regards to the foster care system so don’t @ me)

Emma doesn’t know what pushed her to advertise her services as a college tutor. Maybe it was the crippling debt, maybe it was the masochistic desire to work herself up over the sheer idiocy of some of her ‘students’; the amount of male freshmen that seem to think they can pay her $30 an hour for ‘tutoring’ (aka, what they seem to read as ‘sex’) is criminal.

She doesn’t mind the majority of the people she tutors - the ones that are easy to explain things to and the ones that are polite, that is - and she just about manages to fit four one-hour sessions a week while still keeping up with her own degree. Emma is only technically a college junior, but she’d completed her Law degree by the age of sixteen, and her Psychology degree at eighteen. Now she’s completing her BA in Business, at the age of twenty.

To put it lightly, Emma’s smart, and feels able to offer her knowledge to those who need it, and to those who can pay. If she’s lucky, she’ll get a rich kid who’s failing, and needs the tutoring to please mommy and daddy so they’re not cut off and left with nothing. They’re a pain in the ass, and the blonde struggles to bite her tongue when they complain about how their parents expect them to pass all their classes when they’re _“only going to join the family business anyway”_ , but she needs the money, dammit.

It’s five o’clock, and getting dark outside, when Emma’s phone pings, signalling an incoming email. As always, she checks it right away, preferring to stay on top of these things so as not to become overwhelmed. It’s from someone named Regina Mills. The blonde vaguely recognises the name, possibly from her Business lectures, and an image of a petite brunette with a dark bob and a haughty stare flashes into her mind. _Great._

**_Dear Miss Swan,_ **

**_I would like to request your tutoring services. I shall come to your apartment at five-thirty tonight._ **

**_Regina Mills_ **

Emma stares at the abrupt email, shocked. How the fuck does Regina know where she lives? And to invite herself over like that shows a level of entitlement Emma’s not sure she’s equipped to deal with. But, if the pristine dress suits Regina wears to lectures are anything to go by, she’s stupid rich, and thus Emma feels she has to accept. 

Growing up in the system was a nightmare in itself, not to mention the complete lack of support from anyone. It had been her Math teacher that had pushed for Emma to get college funding and a scholarship to Stanford, taking the time to sit and fill in every single form with her, going out of her way to aid the blonde in any way she could. Emma misses her a lot.

Thankfully, Stanford had been delighted to take on such a young prodigy, which had enabled Emma to move out of her last home at fourteen. Even though she’d technically been in the system until she was eighteen, Stanford had agreed they would act as her legal ‘home’ for the last four years of her adolescence.

While Emma still receives a base level of funding, she has insurmountable debt from the cost of renting an apartment in the city, paying for textbooks, and the upkeep of her old yellow bug. Other sacrifices have to be made, like heating and decent food, but for the reward learning brings her, the blonde would definitely say it’s worth it.

But now Regina Mills is coming over - Emma still doesn’t have a good grasp of who that actually is - and she has less than half an hour to make herself and her tiny apartment look presentable. The studio flat is shamefully bare, freezing, and has a distinct lack of food in the cupboards, bar an unhealthy amount of pot noodles.

Rushing to her bedroom, Emma chucks on her only presentable pair of skinny jeans, a fitted white cotton shirt and her favourite oversized grey cardigan. She spends too long fiddling around with her hair, trying to make the unruly blonde curls appear somewhat tamed; she ends up scooping the hair into a ponytail, and persuades herself it looks _fine_.

With only five minutes to spare, Emma whizzes around her apartment, picking up empty mugs and clearing away the mountains of work piled high in various corners. She folds the blanket on her worn couch, and even tries to dust the few surfaces visible to the eye, but it barely looks any different when she’s finished.

There’s no time to spiral into a panic, because suddenly the doorbell is ringing, and Emma’s steeling herself for what could be one of the most nerve-wracking encounters of her adult life. (Yes, she’s only twenty, but she’s been in a fair few embarrassing situations, given her chronic clumsiness and apparent propensity to make a fool of herself.)

Taking a deep breath, the blonde pulls the door open and plasters a wide smile on her face. Regina’s standing there, clad in her usual fitted dress and heels, hair styled to perfection, not a blemish in sight. Emma can’t help but gape, shocked at just how attractive the brunette is; she’s only ever seen her in passing or from afar across the lecture theatre, and has never had the opportunity - or privilege, should she say - to examine her up close.

“Miss Swan, are you just going to stand there, or can I come in?” Regina’s tone is clipped and no-nonsense. If it weren’t for her dumb shock, Emma would have had something to say about the impolite way Regina pushes past her, but she’s still so taken by the brunette’s beauty that all she can do it shut the door behind her silently.

“Um, hi,” Emma mumbles, trying desperately to regather her scrambled thoughts. She’s _smart_ , goddammit, she shouldn’t be struck dumb by some pretty rich kid. Clearing her throat and straightening her spine, the blonde crosses her arms protectively across her chest. “How can I help you?”

Regina briefly casts her gaze around the small apartment, and the tiny curl of her upper lip doesn’t go unnoticed by Emma, who’s walls of defence immediately rise. “I’m failing my Business class and my mother is on my case about passing it,” the brunette begins, protecting herself from the embarrassment with her curt tone and emotionless expression. “I’ll pay you $100 per assignment. Does that sound acceptable?”

If Emma didn’t know what to say before, she certainly doesn’t now. “Are you— Are you seriously offering to pay me to do your assignments for you?” Emma knew rich kids could be assholes, but paying others to do their work for them was a line she didn’t think people had the guts to cross. In theory, she would be impressed by Regina’s gall to ask her such a forthright way, but as it stands, the disbelief seems to be overriding every other emotion she could be experiencing.

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re joking right?!” Emma barks out a bemused laugh and brings a hand up to scratch at her forehead, brows pulled down as she tries to comprehend what Regina’s asking of her. They don’t even know each other, and this woman has the nerve to straight-up ask her to complete her assignments. She _tutors_ people, not completes their work for them.

“Would I be asking if I was? I have to pass this class or my mother will cut me off. I’ll pay anything you want. Money is no issue.” Regina actually looks hassled as she reaches into her handbag and digs around. Pulling out her purse, she opens it and starts flicking through the wad of cash she has stashed in there. Before she can offer any of it to Emma, the blonde holds up her hands, taking a step back.

“Woah, I don’t think so. If you don’t have the work ethic to make mommy and daddy happy, then that’s on you. I _help people_ , not become their slaves and kiss their asses,” Emma snaps, glaring at the brunette.

Scoffing, Regina casts her eyes to the ceiling, clearly gathering her temper before she lashes out, and releases a forced breath. “You can’t talk to me like that, Miss Swan. Don’t you know who I am?” Despite the seemingly unaffected expression plastered across her face, Emma can tell the brunette is fuming, and takes a small pinch of satisfaction in knowing that she’s probably one of the first people to actually say no to this woman.

But in all seriousness, Emma has no clue who Regina is. She’s simply a privileged brat, from what she can tell, but apparently there’s something she doesn't know; not that she cares. Regina could be the daughter of the world’s richest man, and she still wouldn’t do her work for her.

(A part of Emma’s brain is telling her to _take the damn money_ , because even $100 an assignment could make a serious dent into her debt over time, and even buy her some more food, but she prides herself on her moral compass and reputation as an independent, hard-worker. She won’t sacrifice that. She can’t.)

“No, I don’t. You rich kids are all the same to me.”

“My mother is Cora Mills, the mayor. So if you think you can get away with talking to me like that and keeping your scholarship, you’re sorely mistaken.” There’s a venom in Regina’s eyes that reminds her of her childhood, of raised fists and bruises, and despite all her efforts not to let it affect her, a fear sparks in Emma’s stomach.

Regina doesn’t have the power to make those kinds of threats, right? The mayor can’t just cut her funding for no good reason. But _still_. The threat scares her.

Fighting every instinct to just give in and agree to kiss Regina’s ass, Emma narrows her eyes and tenses her muscles, refusing to back down from the fight. “Make whatever threats you want, Your Highness, I’m not doing your dirty work for you.”

It’s painfully obvious that Regina has never had anyone stand up to her like that before. Underneath the outrage swirling in her dark eyes, Emma thinks she can detect a glimmer of respect, but she could be mistaken. Jaw clenched, the brunette turns on her heel and stalks from the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

As soon as she’s gone, the blonde releases a breath of relief and allows her whole body to sag. That whole encounter, while only lasting a short fifteen minutes, has drained her; time for a rewarding pot noodle and a stint at her desk. Some people may be able to slack off, but she certainly can’t.

* * *

A week later, Emma’s sat at her desk, furiously typing away at the keyboard of her laptop. She has to get this essay submitted by 6AM, and she’s only half finished. Usually she never leaves work until the last minute, but she’d managed to get herself a job at a local cafe, and the shifts are at the most awkward of times. She’s tired beyond functioning, but she needs the money now more than ever - she thinks she’s catching a virus, and needs to go to the doctor, but the antibiotics she’s pretty sure she’ll be prescribed will cost her $100 per day, and she absolutely cannot afford that if she wants to continue eating.

The doorbell rings.

“Ugh, what?” Who the hell is at her door at midnight? It’s not like sales people do their rounds at this time of night, and she swears she hasn’t ordered takeout, unless she did it in some kind of sniffly haze.

Reluctantly, Emma pushes her aching body up from her chair and shuffles over to the door, pulling her cardigan tighter around her thin frame. She really does need heating in here, yikes.

The blonde doesn’t know what to expect when she yanks the door open, a curse on her tongue, but she _definitely_ didn’t think she’d see Regina Mills on the other side. “The fuck are you doing here?” She snaps, before she can bite back the words.

Emma’s never usually so confrontational, but sue her, she’s tired, most likely sick, and in a crazy amount of debt. And who wouldn’t be pissed at being dragged away from an essay at midnight by the woman who demanded Emma do her work for her? (Despite the distinct lack of money in her account, Emma’s still rather proud of herself for standing up to the brunette.)

Regina actually has the decency to look guilty, which brings a pang of satisfaction to Emma’s stomach, and even looks nervous as she opens her mouth to speak. “I came to apologise. You were right; I need to actually work if I want to pass Business. I thought about it, and um— I realised I don’t actually understand a lot of the content.” Red blooms on the brunette’s cheeks, and she casts her gaze to the floor, fiddling with the sleeve of her blazer. (Emma has no idea how she can wear a damn pantsuit at this late hour.) “I was hoping maybe you would reconsider tutoring me - _actually_ tutoring me, I mean. Please, I— I need the help. I’ll pay you extra, double what you usually charge, triple, even. I don’t—”

“Regina, stop talking,” Emma interrupts. The brunette falls silent immediately, still refusing to meet the blonde’s gaze. Chewing her lip in thought, Emma wonders whether she should give in to the woman’s pleas. If she’s honest, she can’t convince herself to say no, not when Regina looks so upset.

The tears glistening in those dark eyes and the anxious pinching of the skin between her thumb and forefinger are enough to make up Emma’s mind. She supposes tutoring Regina won’t be so bad. And she surely can’t complain about the chance to spend time with such a gorgeous woman once a week. Her heart might not be able to cope with it, not with the close proximity tutoring requires, but she’ll sure as hell give it a go.

(The niggling warning that she might catch feelings is shoved to the back of her mind and dutifully ignored.)

“I’ll tutor you,” Emma agrees, noticing the immediate relief that washes over Regina’s features. She straightens up and takes a deep, calming breath, regaining her posture.

“Thank you. Is four o’clock tomorrow, okay? You can come to my apartment.”

As it happens, four works just fine, and Emma nods in agreement, stomach in flux with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Regina offers a curt nod in place of a verbal goodbye, and turns to leave. She takes a few steps, leaving the blonde standing in her doorway, eyes glued shamefully to her ass, before turning around abruptly. “Oh, hang on, here’s my number,” she says, reaching into her bag and pulling out a slip of paper.

Emma takes it, unsurprised by the neat printed numbers. “Thanks.” Of course, it makes sense logistically to have Regina’s number - what if something comes up last minute and one of them has to cancel? - but the blonde can’t help the rising realisation that she’s got the number of the hottest woman she’s ever seen, _and_ said hot woman is the Mayor’s daughter.

Folding the paper in half and tucking it into her pocket, Emma closes the door softly behind her and retreats back to her desk. As she pulls one blanket around her shoulders and another across her lap, turning her attention back to her half-finished essay, it dawns on her that she probably has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you thought! any feedback is appreciated.


End file.
